


One Time Dean Let Sam Drive

by SailAweigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailAweigh/pseuds/SailAweigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finally gets keys to drive, but only to the carwash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Time Dean Let Sam Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/gifts).



> Originally written as a birthday present for minim_calibre more that a few years ago. I forgot I'd even ever written it. Tag to episode 2.2, "Everybody Loves a Clown."

It was the last two chores Sam and Dean had to do before they left and Sam was terrified. He couldn’t even really blame Dean, much, because it had been his own idea to stay and finish the job so they could collect an honest paycheck for once. One less fraudulent credit card in use, one less thing for Agent Hendrickson to catch them up on he’d argued. Hunching his shoulders up around his ears and stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he walked over to the car.

Normally, Sam liked to drive. Maybe even a car like this one. It was actually kind of cute when you stopped to just look at it, as if considering a purchase from a dealership lot. Almost like a matchbox car—on steroids. Sam felt like he could pick it up and carry it around in his pocket, it was that small. That thought did not dispel his unease, however, as he approached the driver-side door.

Unclenching his fists, he rubbed his palms up and down his jeans clad thighs. Sam could feel sweat gathering between his shoulder blades under the red jacket. Damn Dean for leaving him with this one last task by volunteering to clean the dead bugs out the manager’s trailer, so that he was left with having to drive the car over to the washstand and clean it. He looked at the car again and shivered. How could something so small and so cute look so evil?

It was the image of those things tumbling out of the Mini-Cooper, scuttling away from the spotlight like red, yellow and blue-painted cockroaches caught on the kitchen counter when the light was turned on. Filthy, nasty, sneaking things—clowns—almost as hard to kill as roaches. But they’d killed that Rakshasa in its Ronald McDonald disguise and after that, this should be a piece of cake. Cake, mind you, not pie. One last shudder and he collapsed into the driver’s seat, slammed the door hard thinking about clown-roach heads and maybe Dean’s right hand in there, too and put the little car in gear to drive it over to the washstand. Just get the job done and they could go.


End file.
